


A Call Away

by visionsofvelichor



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Charmie, Dirty Talk, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Phone Sex, Pining, Smut, long distance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 22:43:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15520287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visionsofvelichor/pseuds/visionsofvelichor
Summary: Timothée calls Armie from London in a desperate morning haze, waking him for a dirty but sweet phone call.





	A Call Away

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fictional work with real people. Of course I respect both men and their respective lives/relationships. This is simple fantasy and is a harmless piece of writing.

"Tim?” The man’s voice was slow, thick with sleep.

Timothée’s lips parted, heavy gaze flickering to the clock at his bedside. The blocky numbers read 8:07 AM. Armie’s would read 3:07 AM.

“I’m sorry—”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine…”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“I- I know that,” Timothée mumbled. He pressed the phone harder against his ear, as if he’d be able to feel the man’s breath at its shell.

There was a long moment of silence, and then the rustling of sheets. Armie’s voice was closer, and the boy could imagine the way he’d be sitting up in bed, legs bent at the knees, elbows resting on them.

“We said we wouldn’t do this anymore,” Armie said softly.

Timmy hesitated, slowly lowering himself down to the bed. His free hand absently slid down his side, over to his stomach, until his palm came to rest on his lower belly with his fingers tucked into the waistband of his boxers. “I know.”

More sheet rustling. Maybe he’d propped himself up against the headboard. A soft sigh. “You miss me.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes…” Timmy’s reply was nothing more than a breathy sigh pushed out in relief.

“Tell me what it’s like there. In London.”

“It’s beautiful…” Timothée’s fingers curled slowly against his hip. The sun crawled into his hotel room through partially sheer curtains, warming his skin.

“Is that it?” He could hear the smile in his voice.

“It’s lonely.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The two listened to the other breathe for a moment.

“What are you wearing, Timmy?” His voice was molasses, dripping from the receiver teasingly slowly.

“Nothing but my boxers,” the boy whispered dutifully.

“I want you to take them off.”

Timmy’s breath caught in his throat, and he nodded. “Hold on—”

“Put me on speaker.”

Timothée’s teeth scraped his bottom lip as he pulled the phone from his ear, only to set it on the pillow beside his head after he’d pressed the button. He then lifted his hips, back arching as he squirmed out of his boxers. He kicked them to the floor with a soft breath.

“Good?” Armie’s voice came from beside him.

“Good,” He confirmed quietly, sinking back onto the bed.

“Are the sheets nice?” It was frustrating, the way Armie managed to sound so seductively casual, the fuzzing of his voice over the phone only adding to it.

“They’re really soft…”

“You like the way they feel against your body, don’t you, Timothée?”

The boy’s lips parted, eyes hooded as he stared up at the ceiling. Armie hardly ever used his full name when only addressing him, saving it for the moments like these when he knew Timmy couldn’t resist the way the letters rolled off his tongue, couldn’t restrain himself from imagining the way his lips moved.

“Was that a yes?” A smirk, elongating the syllables.

“Yes,” Timothée answered shyly.

“We’ve done this… how many times? And you still sound so innocent. If only the world knew,” Armie mused.

Timmy sighed, closing his eyes and allowing his head to fall back against the pillow. He ran his fingertips ever so lightly along his stomach, raising goosebumps on his skin. “Knew what?” He breathed.

Because, you see, this is how it worked. They made cheap small talk, pretended to care about the weather or what they ate for dinner. Listened to their breath get more impatient as they listened, imagined the way their eyes darkened. Until Timmy asked a question, one they both knew would set Armie off, one the man could babble for ages about. A subject as much taboo as it was sinful.

A dark chuckle came from Armie’s end, fading out a bit as he leaned back from the phone. “Knew how much of a little harlot Hollywood’s sweetheart was.”

Timmy’s fingers slid slowly to his nipple, teasing along the soft pink until it was raised and sensitive. He let a soft sigh slip from parted lips as he did the same for the other.

“Oh, the tabloids would never be able to handle it, Timothée…” Armie murmured. “Knowing how quickly you fall onto those pretty little knees of yours. Probably have permanent bruises on them, hm?”

Timmy mumbled incoherently, hand itching lower on his chest, just waiting for the word, waiting for when Armie told him what he wanted.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to pinch your neck,” Armie muttered into the phone, almost pressing his lips directly to the microphone.

Timmy didn’t question the order, lifting his hand to his throat. His thumb and forefinger pinched lightly at the sensitive skin with a soft gasp.

“Harder,” Armie ordered, as if he just knew Timothée was holding back. He listened for the telltale hitch of the boy’s breath before continuing. “Gonna mark you up… god, you look so pretty in purple, Tim…”

Timothée’s eyes fluttered, lashes tickling the tops of flushed cheeks. He held his skin at his neck, his other hand slowly sliding down his stomach to tease his nails along the base of his length.

“Do you want to touch yourself, Timothée?” Armie murmured lowly.

“Yes, Armie,” came the breathless reply.

“Go ahead, sweetheart.”

Timmy’s head tipped to the side. It was the little slips like those that made this all harder, that blurred the line between a good time and something both men were terrified to name, to face in the harsh light of day.

Long, pianist fingers curled around his aching member, and the resounding groan let Armie know he could go on.

“Does your neck hurt?”

“Yes…”

“You can let go now.”

Timmy’s fingers released the small pinch of skin, hissing at the sting. It would bruise, it would ache. Cause an annoyed huff from makeup in the trailer that night.

“Feel nice?”

“Yeah, Armie…” The boys fingers tightened around himself, and he pressed his other hand to his chest as if to keep himself pinned to the bed.

“God, if I were there,” Armie mumbled, a threat Timothée dreamed of each and every rainy evening. “I’d kiss you stupid, until you couldn’t even breathe.” Timmy’s hand slid up and down his length in time with Armie’s smooth words, heated but controlled. “And then I’d move down, so slow. Know how much you like it when I tease you, baby. Know how much you love when I kiss your neck. Can you feel it, Timothée?”

Timmy’s hand slipped up to his neck, where he let the pad of his fingers just barely brush along the sides of his windpipe. “I can feel it…” His core heated, fire burning deep in his body. Its flames licked at the walls of his stomach, boiled his blood as his hand began to speed up rhythmically.

“And those little pink nipples of yours. Could tease you all day… but I won’t, because you beg so pretty, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Armie… please,” Timmy gasped out softly, thumbing at his slick head.

“Please what?” There it was, the smirk in his voice. Drove Timmy wild.

“Please touch me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, can’t you feel me? That sweet cock, so wet for me…” The man’s voice was heavier, breathier, and Timmy moaned sweetly as he realized he was probably touching himself too.

“Oh, god,” The boy whimpered, back arching beautifully. He only wished the man was there to admire it.

“That’s it, Timmy… make yourself feel so good, you’re so good…”

Timothée’s finger pressed against his bottom lip, wetting it before letting it slide slowly down his chest and stomach. It left a slick trail in its wake, and he shuddered as he glanced down to blow out a cool breath. Fire met ice as his heated skin broke out in goosebumps, and his lips trembled. His hand was becoming more and more erratic as he listened to Armie’s uneven breath on the line. His legs tensed, his heart pounded against his chest. “I can’t—”

“Then don’t.”

“Armie,” he whined, and in that fleeting moment, he was sitting in the man’s lap again, arms curled around his head as he buried his face in his hair, pretending the cameras weren’t there in that beautiful house, pretending they were alone forever.

“Let go, sweetheart.”

And Timmy did. He let go with a broken moan, fingers curling in the sheets and yanking them up uselessly as he spilled hot and heavy onto his stomach. He milked himself for all he was worth as he listened to Armie praise him quietly, the man only falling silent when he didn’t hear Timmy whimpering anymore.

“I miss you,” Timmy finally spoke, voice wrecked.

“I miss you,” Armie echoed, but it was already beginning to sound distanced.

“But we can’t,” Timmy mumbled before Armie could, closing his eyes and desperately holding onto the heat of his afterglow.

“But we can’t,” Armie repeated.

They were silent for a long moment.

“Thank you, Armie.”

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

“I’m not.”

Silence.

“I’m here.”

And as Timmy opened soft, wet eyes and turned his head to the side, he could see Armie lying next to him, shirtless and sleepy. Lips pink and eyes flashing as he smiled up at him. “Always?”

“Always.” Timmy watched the words on Armie’s mouth.

“Call me when you go to bed tonight,” Timothée begged.

There was a moment of hesitation. Sheets rustling as the man laid back down, as he ran a hand through his hair. Timmy wished it could be his own hair. “I will.”

Timmy nodded, taking a slow, shaking breath.

“Have a good day, Tim,” Armie whispered.

The line went dead, just in time to throw up a soundproof wall discouraging those three little deadly words that so desperately wanted to crawl from the depths of their souls.


End file.
